


Final Act

by hiza-chan (callunavulgari)



Series: Dark Month Collection [9]
Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/hiza-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though no oath is shared between the lovers, in their hearts they know they will meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Act

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Month 2010, Day 12, for sometimesamuse -- Angeal/Genesis/Sephiroth, GD, mortality . Ugh. Freaking poems. Freaking impossible characters. Sephiroth's head is a truly messy place, especially post-mortem. I'm not even gonna lie, writing this was so difficult, because getting into Sephiroth's headspace and trying to make him talk is like pulling teeth. Not to mention the fact that Genesis wouldn't be Genesis without quoting Loveless. So, the end result is a little bit messy. Kind of like a character study gone horribly, horribly awry.

Life stream. The blood of the planet. Souls that leak out through the cracks, tickle the edges of his subconscious with their fleeting whispers. Never the souls that he desires.  
  
The goddess. Minerva. Loveless. _Genesis_. What was Genesis' fate? The life stream is quiet, and he thinks, _Though no oath is shared between the lovers, in their hearts they know they will meet again._  
  
Perhaps he had survived after all.  
  
Angeal. Zack. Broken wings and broken promises. He is long dead, both of them, and yet, their ghosts are nowhere to be found.  
  
Perhaps they do not want to see him. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  
  
Mother.  
  
Jenova.  
  
The world spreads all around him, and here, there is no distinguishing. Spirits brush up against his own, startle away when his memories are passed onto them. He wonders if they understand what he is. Here, in this place of nothing where they are all one. If the dead know that he is a monster.  
  
A crack in the world, and he slips through. Unnoticed.  
  
Underground. Water, water, water, and-  
  
"My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey, in my own salvation and your eternal slumber."  
  
Genesis.  
  
"I wanted to share it with you. The gift." he says, quietly.  
  
A drop of water catches in his lashes, and Genesis does not blink it away.  
  
"The boy was a poor substitute."  
  
A laugh, bitter and fleeting. An ugly emotion that stirs within him.  
  
"Angeal should be here too," Genesis says, and a smile flickers around the edges of his lips. The smallest hint of cockiness. That butterfly quick smile that makes Sephiroth think of cooling sweat and slick sheets, of slumbering in the shelter of another's arms, leeching warmth from Angeal and waking to the image of Genesis, still bleary eyed from sleep and reading passages of Loveless in the sun.  
  
It makes him think of Angeal, who should be here too. Who eludes him, even in death. Angeal, with his honor and his pride. Angeal, who really, was never a monster at all.  
  
Angeal, whose only fault was getting in their way too often. Who cared too much.  
  
Sephiroth is glad that Angeal did not watch his descent into madness, though he is sure that, by now, Zack has told him.  
  
The cave is quiet, save the whispers of the dead.  
  
Genesis shifts, moves to stand- his movements ragged, like he hasn't moved in days. He leans closer, out over the leak of lifestream, brushes a hand through him.  
  
"I will save them, you know. Protect the planet. I am the only one left, and I will save it."  
  
He says it like he is talking to a lover, voice dripping honey-sweet with good intentions.  
  
Sephiroth had good intentions too.  
  
He remembers.  
  
"I will save them, and the world will have a new hero."  
  
Genesis. Angeal. Zack. Cloud. Aerith. Tifa.  
  
The world never needed him. He was never it's hero.  
  
Something skips, like a record, loops and spirals and he wonders if when he's reborn again, will he still be able to hold his thoughts close like this? Or will the madness take hold once more?  
  
He doesn't know, but-  
  
There will always be a legacy. A legacy that lived. A legacy that will stop him, time and time again. And that is enough to quell the ache. Enough to quiet the human guilt that has surfaced only with death, far too late.  
  
"I will be their hero, Sephiroth, don't you see?"  
  
Sephiroth doesn't.  
  
The world already has it's hero.  
  
It has no need of Genesis.  
  
It has no need of any of them.  
  
The heroes have enough monsters to deal with.


End file.
